


Kirknapped!

by TheIntelligentHufflepuff



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Humor, Kidnapping, Light Angst, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Protective Leonard "Bones" McCoy, Protective Spock (Star Trek), Sassy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-18 04:43:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15477927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheIntelligentHufflepuff/pseuds/TheIntelligentHufflepuff
Summary: Jim had been having a bad day.So could he really be blamed for the fact that, when he opened the door to go and get some damn groceries, only to be confronted with the barrel of a gun, all he said was “Can’t it wait?”





	1. All In A Day's Work

**Author's Note:**

> Sassy Kirk is my fave, Spock and Bones' banter is my fave, Jaylah is awesome (that's why it's AOS not TOS), and i havent written comedy in a while. 
> 
> Tbh I haven't actually finished writing this but I will within like 2 weeks, cos though I'm going away for a few days, this story won't be long. 
> 
> Comments are greatly appreciated! Enjoy!

Jim had been having a bad day. Scratch that, a shit day. First, there had been a barrage of meetings that were one half thinly disguised dressings down and the other veiled requests for Jim to do things that made him break out into a sweat. Second, he’d had to face these meetings alone because Spock had caught the flu and was sequestered in his San Francisco lodgings under the threat of McCoy’s hypo. Third, Jim had realised halfway through his lunch (eaten at four pm because the brass couldn't, apparently, give their star captain twenty minutes to stuff his face in their haste) that it was the anniversary of his mother's death. Fourth, he’d run out of milk. 

So could he really be blamed for the fact that, when he opened the door to go and get some damn groceries, only to be confronted with the barrel of a gun, all he said was “Can’t it wait?”

The gunwoman blinked, confused. Jim blinked blearily back. After a few seconds, the gunwoman recovered; though there was a mask over her face, Jim could see the bumps where her eyebrows were straighten out. 

“No. Come with me, or I kill you.” 

“That's a bad plan.” Jim yawned. 

“What?” the gunwoman stepped back a little “You...are Captain Kirk, right?” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Jim said, waving a hand vaguely as he did “Bad plan. You obviously want to do something with me, or you’d have killed me, which means I don't want to go with you, because if I do I'll end up dead anyway, but you'll have used me for something, which probably isn't good. So if I won't go, your only option is kill me now, in which case you don't achieve your primary objective and I get a centuries long nap.” 

“But surely you don't want to die?” the gunwoman persisted, sounding irritated.

“Ask me again tomorrow.” Jim quipped. Figuring it was a nice enough parting line, he threw her a mock salute, slammed the door, and turned around. 

She blew the lock. 

“Ah, shit.” Jim sighed. 

****   
Leonard was a surgeon at heart. He had entered medicine to stand between humanity and their frailty, to pull people back from the brink of death so they could live to fight for good another day. Not to babysit workaholic vulcans who could be healed with two injections and a day- a mere day- of bedrest. 

“Sit down!” He growled. 

Spock raised an eyebrow at Leonard and leant back into the sofa as if he hadn't just been caught reaching for his pad. 

“I am behind on work, and I really feel quite well, doctor.” He had the gall to explain. True, he didn't sound nearly as stuffy as he had done, but that didn't mean he was fit enough to start mining his way through reports and aggravating his healing illness as he did so. 

Leonard brandished a hypo at Spock “And you'll feel better if you just let yourself heal. The reports can't be that important.” 

“On the contrary, it is extremely important that I continue to fulfill my duty as first officer, part of which is maintaining my paperwork.” 

“Yes,” Leonard agreed sarcastically, peering at the items in question “How will the Federation go on without being updated on the Enterprise’s meat usage.” 

“Doubtless the Federation will continue with or without my reports.” Spock bristled “But I cannot disappoint the Captain.” 

Leonard, damn him, softened slightly. Spock’s attempts to impress his crush could be considered juvenile, but they were well intentioned whether Leonard would ever admit it out loud or not. 

“Jim’s not gonna care if you have to slack off for a day. God knows he's not gonna have any time to pay attention to reports, the brass’ve been running him ragged from what I hear.” 

“Hm.” Spock responded. 

“Speaking of,” Leonard continued, waking up his own pad “I'll message him to add an extra field kit or two to quartermaster’s special requests, if he ever gets the bloody chance to give them. I was speaking to the Tereshkova’s CMO and she said that actually they're more useful than an extra biobed when you're short-staffed or in an emergency. Seems sensible with all we get into.” 

“I don't believe the Enterprise experiences a quantitatively greater number of adverse incidents than other vessels on the fringe.” Spock contested. Not only erroneously, in Leonard's superior opinion, but somehow irritatingly primly too.

“You think that.” Leonard glared.

“I do.” Spock responded. 

Leonard growled and left for the nearest bar in search of Scotty and a margarita, both of which he found. Halfway back to his own lodgings, he remembered he’d left his pad at Spock’s. Briefly, he considered leaving it there in favour of getting out of the cold night air as quickly as possible. But he didn't want Spock to get bored and take it apart or turn it into a chess board, so he backtracked. When he arrived, Spock was sitting cross legged in the centre of the main room looking slightly perturbed. 

“What now?” Leonard immediately asked. 

Spock didn't bother looking reproachful, just lifted an eyebrow and asked in turn “Has the Captain responded to your message?” 

Leonard crossed to the counter, checked his pad, and shook his head. 

Spock nodded gravely “Neither has he answered mine.” he stood up “I will, as you say, check up on him.” 

“Now hold your horses!” Leonard sputtered “Just because he hasn't immediately answered your message doesn't mean you have to fly off into the night.” 

You had to hand it to Spock; he was adamant.   
“He has neglected to respond to our communications. That may well indicate that he is in trouble.” 

“We’re at HQ, not on a mission! He's probably just asleep. Lord knows he needs it.” 

“Jim never sleeps until at least 23:00hrs, even on shore leave.” 

“Maybe he just doesn't want to talk.” 

“And ignore ship’s business?” 

“Maybe his pad’s broken.” 

“He would fix it in minutes.” 

“Maybe he has someone over?” Leonard finally ventured. It was a long shot, but he didn't want to admit that Spock’s counter arguments were making him a teeny, tiny bit nervous about Jim. 

Spock gave him a look that came very close to being affronted, but failed to completely hide the green eyed monster lurking underneath. 

“He does know other people, you know.” 

Oh, Spock knew, judging by the barely perceptible fist clenching Leonard's words produced. Quite frankly, Leonard was surprised. He knew Spock was infatuated with Jim but he'd never before considered that it would involve much passion- he supposed he'd been considering it more as the type of awe and desire for attention that you might see in a cadet who fancied one of the grad students used to train them, rather than as a potentially substantial romantic entanglement the likes of which Leonard was fairly sure Jim himself was angling for with Spock. Well, it was something for a jaded divorcee to think about. 

“I am aware Jim is a social creature. Nevertheless I intend to visit his apartment tonight. Will you do the same, doctor, or not?” 

Leonard shook his head, defeated “I suppose.” 

***   
“Ah, shit.” Leonard sighed, when he saw the broken door


	2. Perspective is key

Standard setup: dim lighting, guards by the doors, easily washed surfaces, Jim tied to a post in the middle. Overall, uninspiring in his opinion, but his captor seemed pretty pleased with it. 

“Now I’m in charge.” she gloated, running the flat of a knife over Jim’s Adam’s apple in a way that he supposed was meant to be intimidating and possibly even sexual, but was really just plain awkward.

 

“You seem to be.”

 

“I am.”

 

“Great.” Jim nodded. He had flashbacks to staff meetings during long periods of cruising: Anything happen? Nothing much. Nothing much happened? No.

 

“I'm going to torture you.” she said, without even attempting to inject any drama into the declaration. 

 

“Don't you need to tell me what for, first?” Jim asked, pointedly bland “Also, who are you?” 

 

She scowled at him. The door guards stared into space; they could've died days ago for all he knew. Jim yawned. 

 

“Stop yawning.” his captor snapped. 

 

“Can't help it.” he stated, with an inflection that he hoped compensated for his inability to shrug. 

 

“You're really immature.” she said. She didn't even sound accusatory, just faintly impressed. 

 

“I've been told. Back to the torture?” 

 

“No.” 

 

“Why?” 

 

“I'm not gonna torture you because you asked! I don’t know what kind of kinks you’re in to!” 

 

“Ew.” Jim recoiled “No. I’m not asking you to  _ torture  _ me, I just wanna know why you wanted to. I feel like I deserve to know why I’ve been kidnapped. And I'm exclusively into sweet, romantic sex by the way.” 

 

“I didn't want to know that, either.” 

 

“You brought it up!” 

 

“Just shut up!” 

 

“Are you gonna monologue?” 

 

Jim’s head jerked to the side under the force of a resounding slap. His captor was huffing like a horse, hands on her hips. Just what Jim needed. 

 

“Stop acting like you're in control if this situation!” she snapped. 

 

“No.” he retorted. 

 

“I'm gonna tape your mouth shut.” she threatened. 

 

“No you won't.” he replied “You’d have done that while I was unconscious if you needed to.”

 

“You're like a toddler.” she seethed. 

 

“I'm smarter than that!” Jim responded, genuinely offended “And much less cute.” 

 

“I hate children.” 

 

“Well that's nice?” 

 

She slapped him again. For all that her abilities and weapons indicated that she was military (or paramilitary) she did seem to like a good old-fashioned, unregimented, inefficient bitch-slap. Jim could appreciate that in a woman, especially as it meant she hadn't yet started to actually torture him. 

 

She seemed to take Jim’s contemplative silence as submission, or perhaps surliness. Either way, she stepped back and gestured for the guards to follow her out of the room with a smug “I'll let you stew.” 

 

Jim nodded, waited until he was sure the door was closed, then promptly fell asleep. 

 

**** 

 

“Spock?” Leonard said, trying not to sound as irritated by the Vulcan’s stormy silence as he felt “Let go of the chair. You’ll have to pay for a new one if you break it.” 

 

Spock didn't reply. The metal of the chair gave a pathetic squeak as it was compacted under a Vulcan fist. Leonard hoped it wasn't too expensive. 

 

“You're contaminating evidence.” he tried. 

 

“Not important evidence.” 

 

“Okay.” Leonard sighed “I’m calling HQ, see if-” 

 

Spock reached out with the hand that wasn't gripping the chair to pluck Leonard’s communicator from his grasp “Would it not be best to call the crew?” 

 

Leonard squared his shoulders “No. I mean, we can tell them. But we have to leave searching to ‘Fleet police. And we should definitely leave the crime scene. Isn’t that logical?” 

 

“Of all the times to exalt logic, doctor,” Spock bit “Must you choose now?” 

 

“If you’re going to be obstructing attempts to find my friend, yes.” Leonard growled back. 

 

Spock observed him coldly for a handful of taught seconds. For a heartbeat Leonard was half sure that he was about to leap over the overturned kitchen table and beat him into submission. Then, Spock’s shoulders slumped and he turned away. 

 

“I suggest we return to my lodgings.” 

 

“That’s the best idea I’ve heard all night.” 

 

**** 

As Jim slept, he dreamed. Or more accurately, recalled a series of living nightmares from his past in cinematic fashion, waking from a convulsive shiver every now and then to take in his grim surroundings, only to be dragged back into dark images of wilted crops, haunted eyes, concave stomachs. 

 

Upon waking properly, he remembered that he didn’t eat dinner that night.  

 

His captor stood, mask off, staring at him with a strange look of pity in her wide, dark eyes. 

 

“Isn’t it funny,” she observed “That I thought it would be cruel to leave you to suffer without explaining myself first?” 

 

“How would you know if I was suffering?” Jim rasped. He sorely needed a drink. "And how would explaining yourself help?"

 

His captor shook her head, smiling “We all suffer in the same way, all of us from Tarsus.” 

 

Jim’s head snapped up against his will, heart clenching. Carefully, he scanned her face, cataloging each detail and tracking it back through the years- then he let his head flop back. Jim had memorised the face and name of every single person who escaped the reign of terror on Tarsus IV, and his captor wasn’t one of them. 

 

When he informed her of this fact, she only grinned wider “No, I never was on the sacrifice list.” 

 

“You were an exterminator?” Jim scoffed, fiercely covering up the ghost of his childhood terror “Then please tell me your skincare regime, because you do not look a day over twenty.” 

 

“Oh, I just wash my face in justice every night. Justice and the desire to make you hurt.” 

 

Lame one-liner aside, that meant a personal vendetta. Jim was flattered; he’d never had anyone hate him without even having met him before “Sounds intense.” 

 

Jim’s captor ignored him and started to pace. When she spoke, Jim found to his immediate gratification that she was, in fact, monologuing. 

 

“You asked me who I am? I’ll tell you. My name is Lenore Kodos. My father was governor of the colony at Tarsus IV. He took up his position to care for others; he was attentive, wise. Under his hand the colony prospered in wheat and other crops-” 

 

“Like lying, and murder.” 

 

“-Until unstable factions hungry for gain-”

 

“Such as the government, for example.” 

 

“- introduced unsafe harvesting practices which led to the spread of a deadly fungus. My father’s decisive action in sacrificing a portion of the colony allowed its continued survival. Better yet, it allowed those who lived to prosper. Yet, when Starfleet responded to my father’s desperate calls for aid-” 

 

“Sent, as all desperate messages are, at the lowest level of urgency through the longest route.” 

 

“-they turned on him, laying waste to all that he had built, backed up by liars and dissenters. Ever since then, my father has been forced to hide, reduced to scraping out a living as a travelling performer, ever-fearful of persecution, always watching his back. Not only has his life been ruined, but both of us are haunted by accusations of complicity in a tragedy that has left its scars even on me, who was a child. For this reason, I seek justice. I seek to restore my father’s good name. And to do that, I use you!” 

 

Lenore finished with a flourish, jabbing an accusatory finger at Jim’s chest. He laughed. She glared at him, then grabbed his cheek, using her pointed nails to gouge angry lines straight down it. 

 

“You’re laughing now,” she growled “But I’ll make you feel my father’s pain.” 

 

“How, by feeding me three square meals a day and letting me live in a literal palace?” 

 

“No,” Lenore shook her head, grinning cruelly once again- Jim imagined her practicing in front of a mirror every night “By torturing your heart.”

 

"By being mean to me?" 

 

Lenore didn't deign to respond. 

 

***

 

“That’s the worst idea I’ve heard all night!” Leonard exclaimed. He would throw his hands up, but considering the entire bridge crew of the Enterprise, plus a few other heads of department and for some reason Jaylah as well, were crammed into Spock’s notably tiny kitchen, he thought any extensive arm movements would be unwise. 

 

“It’s not that bad.” Scotty protested, exuding a bold amount of confidence for a man that was definitely at least one sheet to the wind “And we could bring some salt for the slugs.” 

 

“Slugs do not factor into the equation, Mr Scott.” Spock responded, doing a poor job of not sounding like an exhausted father of three “Nor do butterflies, Andorians, or nineteenth-century speakeasies.” 

 

A round of protests sounded, each member of the crew certain of the veracity of the interpretation of Jim’s disappearance they received in the great news sharing game of Chinese whispers. 

 

“Inside voices!” Hikaru demanded. Leonard felt sorry for his daughter, because his Stern Dad tone worked wonders on even the most vocal of officers. 

 

Nyota broke the silence “If we can’t work out who took the captain, does anyone” she looked pointedly at Spock “Have any idea where he might have been taken?” 

 

“Underground?” Pavel suggested. 

 

“A starship?” Jaylah offered. 

 

“I know.” said Spock. 

 

“How the bloody hell-” Leonard began. 

 

“Leonard,” Spock interrupted him; he started at the use of his first name “May I speak to you in private?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I wasn't intending to actually make the kidnapper Lenore and have it be similar to Conscience of the King because that would mean a bit of proper angst as you've just read, but then I thought why not because the other scenario I had was a bit limited and also you need tension for comedy. TLDR: I hope the angst didn't kill anyone's enjoyment of this fic.


	3. Con(fu)sion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't proofread this yet ngl but I thought I just needed to post it, and it hopefully is enjoyable anyway!

 

“So you’re telling me,” Leonard sputtered, perched on the end of Spock’s impeccably made bed “That you and Jim are, what, soulmates? And he doesn't even know?” 

 

“Bondmates.” Spock corrected him, looking faintly pinched “It is our minds that are currently connected, not our souls. As humans are psi-null, my mind has established a connection with Jim’s but he cannot do so reciprocally.” 

 

“You're going to tell him,” Leonard decreed “as soon as he’s back.” 

 

“That time seems to have come, yes.” Spock reluctantly agreed. 

 

“For now, can you tell where Jim is?” 

 

Spock’s eyes lost focus and the hard line of his lips softened “North east. The machining district, if I'm not mistaken.” 

 

“Okay.” Leonard sighed, feeling a degree of tension lift  “We’ll inform the authorities, and they’ll find him in no time.” 

 

Spock nodded, and Leonard’s relief lasted the duration of the entire six steps back into the kitchen. There, it abruptly evaporated: Jaylah, Nyota, and Pavel were just disappearing out of the door. 

 

**** 

 

“Let’s start with your mother,” Lenore said, sounding like an appropriately Freudian therapist “and how she left you.” 

 

“Well,” Jim scoffed “I don’t think she had much choice. Random traffic accidents aren’t open to rescheduling.” 

 

“Well, what about your father? Do you feel let down by him, overshadowed?” 

 

“Sounds like  _ you  _ do.” 

 

“Deflection.” Lenore grinned “I’ve hit a nerve.” 

 

“You’ve hit a few more than one, the way you’ve been slapping me.” Jim grumbled. As if to prove his point, Lenore whacked him again. Jim stretched out his jaw in lieu of rubbing it, then carried on “As for dad? He might be a one-time hero, but he’ll never be as well known as me.” 

 

“And you’re happy about that? Do you resent him anyway?” 

 

“Happy? Depends on who’s asking. And why would I resent saved lives? That’s your game, not mine.” 

“You talk as if we’re different species, James.”

 

“Well, I don’t know who your mother is.” 

 

“Neither do I.” 

 

“Well, that would explain the over-idolisation of your father. What?” Jim grinned “Become a captain, you basically become a therapist.” 

 

“So,” Lenore observed, folding her hands behind her “You are very invested in the welfare of your crew. That must mean that you take losses very seriously.” 

 

“Well, duh. If I didn’t give a shit about other people, why would I’ve even joined the ‘Fleet in the first place?” 

 

“Power. Money. Fighting.” 

 

“Power? Money?” Jim giggled “You should sit in on a meeting, that would change your mind.”

 

“But the fight? Don’t you ever wonder if all you’ve ever amounted to is a fighting machine? If you’re just throwing yourself into one conflict after another because you can’t bear to find out what you’d do with yourself in peace?” 

 

“For someone so obsessed with me, you don’t know a lot about me, do you?” 

 

“Obsessed with you? Don’t flatter yourself. You were just the first on the list.” 

 

“Can’t be alphabetically, so it must be for a reason.” 

 

“For being the most useful tool.” 

 

“For what, featuring on recruitment posters?” 

 

“For clearing my father’s legacy.”

 

“By…?” 

 

“Ugh!” Lenore threw her hands up in frustration “If I tell you, will you stop derailing this?” 

 

“Potentially.” 

 

She stared at Jim, hard. He stared back, eyebrows set at the exact position that he knew drew even Spock’s blood pressure up to dangerous levels. Eventually, Lenore relented “Fine! You make a witness statement calling for a fresh inquiry into Tarsus IV, invite my father to Starfleet HQ, make a big show of forgiving him, get people to sign a petition, he gets immunity.” 

 

“Three things,” Jim critiqued, making an attempt to tick each item off as he went but ultimately doing nothing but a passable impression of a surfer witch being burnt at the stake “one: you are  _ really  _ overestimating how much the average citizen is willing to pay attention to anything I say. Two: you are really,  _ really  _ overestimating how much clout I have in Starfleet and/or the criminal justice system. Three: you haven’t explained how your eternal quest to sadden me relates to any of this.” 

 

“It’s separate.” 

 

“Separate?” 

 

“Separate.” 

 

“So you’re going to let me go when you’re satisfied I’m sad enough and then…” 

 

“No.” 

 

“No?” 

 

“I’m going to keep you.” 

 

“Keep me. Here?” 

 

Lenore nodded. 

 

Jim sighed “Well, sooner or later you’re going to have to let me piss. And also, like, deal with Starfleet looking for me. And my crew.” 

 

“They won’t find you.” Lenore replied with absolute, absolutely unfounded certainty. 

 

“We’ll see.” Jim said, serene “We’ll see.”

*****

“What do we do?” Hikaru asked, looking to Leonard before his eyes guiltily flicked back to the real commanding officer, Spock. 

“I suggest we follow them.” 

“And how would that help?” Leonard asked. 

“Either they will lead us to Jim, and we will help them liberate him, or we will all fail to find Jim together.” 

“Like one big, happy family.” Scotty added, nodding firmly. 

Leonard sighed and wordlessly donned his coat. 

*** 

Jaylah and Nyota strode down the pavement towards the machining district at a rapid pace, Jaylah swinging her staff in time to their synced footsteps while Pavel hopped about behind them trying not to be hit. The casual observer shrunk away, while leering people of all species were dispelled with the combined force of two withering looks. 

“To have overpowered James T,” Jaylah observed in her own sharp way “The kidnappers must have been strong.” 

“Or there were a lot of them?” Pavel piped up nervously. 

Jaylah nodded consideringly “There is no fight I cannot win.” 

“Leave some for the rest of us,” Nyota said, quirking an unimpressed eyebrow around their surroundings; the machiners’ zone was covered in a layer of grime their products would never survive and should never be made in “Please.” 

“I’m surprised you came, Nyota.” Pavel squeaked. 

Nyota gave him a look. She knew he was an adult by now, but he always seemed like the slightly clueless, but frighteningly intelligent younger brother of the crew. For all of his navigational intuition, though, he could never match her own grasp of verbal and non-verbal languages, so he often failed to see what people weren’t saying: case in point, he still genuinely thought Spock and Leonard didn’t like each other, and that she was still mad at Jim for not-so-secretly falling in love with her boyfriend. 

“I know a lot more about Starfleet bureaucracy than you Pavel. If we don’t act first, ask forgiveness later, this situation will only escalate.” 

“And crew does not leave crew behind.” Jaylah added proudly. 

“But you aren’t part of the crew.” Pavel whispered to himself quietly. Nyota stood on his toe. 

Just then, Jaylah brought them to a stop with a hand on Nyota’s arm. 

“There is light,” she said, pointing with her staff at the corrugated roll-up door of a windowless, featureless workshop “Coming from there.” 

“It’s early morning by now,” Nyota reasoned, even as she pulled her illegally carried phaser out of its holster “It could be people working.” 

“The door is padlocked.” Jaylah countered, moving closer. Pavel covered them behind. 

Without further ado, but with a worthy amount of flair, Nyota kicked the lock off the door. It bounced off the wall with a clang, perfectly timed with their onwards charge. Two near-identical looking cronies darted awake just in time to be eased back to sleep with the end of Jaylah’s staff; as they slumped to the floor, one of their pads- playing a poorly shot slasher movie in the corner- beeped. Nyota looked to Pavel, Pavel looked to Nyota, Jaylah looked at them both before grabbing the pad and smashing it against the floor. 

_ Well _ , Nyota thought,  _ if you’ve got muscles like hers you may as well use them for a little drama _ . 

On they went. Through a side door, down a concrete corridor lit by flickering strip-lights, and out into... a smoky, dark, gambling den. For a second, Nyota was convinced that they were going to get mobbed by fifteen intoxicated problem gamblers. Then their moment of shock seemed to pass, they collectively decided in favour of the trustworthiness of their door guards, and they accepted the group as fellow problem gamblers with whom they didn’t have to bother unless they joined a game. Shrugging, Nyota led the trio on. For several minutes they strolled around the perimeter poking and prodding at walls and stomping on the floor, utterly ignored by every other occupant of the room. Then, with a small  _ eep  _ of delight, Jaylah managed to open up a trapdoor. 

“Fancy leading an away mission?” Nyota asked, gesturing to the dark stairs leading down. 

“If you're too scared.” Jaylah teased back, already halfway down. 

They hurried after her. Three doors and, surprisingly, no guards later, they hit the jackpot: Jim’s voice, wrecked but unmistakable, saying  

“I would take your point more seriously if it wasn't coming from someone named after a twenty-first century detergent.” 

“He’s alright, then.” Nyota muttered. 

Jaylah and Pavel giggled. On a signal they hadn't previously arranged but all somehow knew, they burst forwards; Nyota and Pavel knocked down two guards with the force of the doors, while Jaylah somersaulted around the pole holding Jim up to catch a third. The woman in the centre of the room drew a phaser, but as soon as she put her finger on the trigger Nyota shot it out of her hand. Seconds later Jaylah had freed Jim, and the two of them descended on the woman with vigour. She was quickly subdued. 

In the silence that followed the fight, Jim doubled over, hands on his knees, and sighed “This is embarrassing.” 

“Do not take it too hard, Captain,” Pavel smirked “We have to take it in turns to be the hero.” 

Jim gave him a tired salute “True. We should probably call the authorities.”

 

**** 

Spock was, naturally, reunited with Jim against a backdrop of flashing lights and light drizzle. Much to his annoyance, he, Leonard, and the others had taken a slight detour in their pursuit of their crewmates and had only arrived at the scene after being guided by rumours- thus, Spock had no way to exact revenge, something which became increasingly less abhorrent to his Vulcan pacifism the more wounds he discovered on his thyla’s body. Not to mention the wounds of his heart near-masterfully concealed in his deep blue eyes. 

“Are you alright?” he asked insistently, hands primed to clasp Jim’s arms but not quite touching. 

“Well, I got a nap.” Jim replied, sidestepping the question “Should you be out here? Your cold seemed pretty bad.” 

“Should I-" Spock scowled “Jim! You were abducted.” 

“Uh, yeah.” Jim rubbed the back of his head “D’ynow how Jay and the rest found me?” 

“Well…” Spock trailed off, tension creeping into his already emotionally splintered self- he felt Leonard’s glare on him and sensed that this was the time “I need to tell you something.” 

“ _ Tell _ me?” Jim questioned immediately “Not  _ inform _ me? What's going on?” 

Spock glanced around for a hidden corner, finding one a few meters away. He led Jim to it, then turned to him and said “We are bonded.” 

“Uh, yeah, you're one of my best friends.” 

“No,” Spock shook his head “though that is true, it is not an emotional bond to which I am referring.” 

“So, A physical bond?” Jim guessed, voice sounding both excited and uncomfortable “Is this a come-on?” 

“Of sorts.” Spock admitted reluctantly “It is true that I feel a degree of physical attraction to you, as well as romantic. But that is not the bond to which I am referring. What I mean to say is, our minds are metaphysically linked.” 

Jim blinked at him again, before his eyes went glassy with the look of someone trying to work out if they’re being pranked or not. Meanwhile Spock stared back with the outward placidity of someone already planning how to leave the country. Eventually, Jim’s cognitive functions returned and he said “Okay.” 

Which, in Spock’s opinion, was a distinctly lacking response. 

“What are your...feelings on the matter?” he prompted. 

“You wanna know if I like you back?” Jim teased, then shrugged “Honestly? It makes sense.” 

“In what way?” 

“Eh, I had a metaphysical experience with your alternate universe self, and the more things change the more they stay the same, right?” 

“...Right.” 

“So what can this bond thing do? Track me, I'm guessing. Can I track you? No, I doubt it, I’d ‘a noticed.” Jim prattled in his fast paced, endearing way. 

He was taking it well, Spock thought. Perhaps too well. 

“You are not disturbed?” Spock asked, just to be sure. 

Jim shook his head, smiling kindly up at Spock “Well it's just like being in love, having our minds so in sync. Actually I was fairly certain I was in live with you.” 

“Was?” 

“Still am.” Jim’s grin turned shy as he gestured vaguely to Spock “We could, y’know, if you wanted…” 

“Yes,” Spock agreed, and kissed him. It was one of the best decisions of Spock’s life.

The woman who had been silently waiting to unlock her front door was not so amused. 

**Author's Note:**

> If posting on mobile has messed with the format I'll fix it when I'm on my laptop!


End file.
